Toffee
by CSI Clue
Summary: In which Hyacinth experiments and Roger takes a bow.


Hyacinth Moffett stirred the cauldron and smiled to herself. She knew that the rich scent drifting from her concoction held a perfume that was sure to bring people her way even though she was outside. Leaves were falling and most folk bundled up now, but the cooler weather didn't stop them from showing up when word—and scent- got out.

She stirred the mixture again, judging it was nearly ready, and looked up. Boris Vronsky was moving in her direction, his eyes locked on the cauldron and even from this distance Hyacinth could see his smile.

"Puff girl, you have made candy?"

"Yes. I thought Roger would be first one here," she murmured, only to hear one of the windows high above her open. Both she and Boris looked up to see Roger leaning out, violin in one hand, bow in the other, his expression hungry.

"Tofffffeeeeee?" he called down. "Please tell me that heavenly perfume is toffee!"

"Yes," she called up to him, absently smacking Boris' hand as he reached for the spoon. "And I'm nearly ready to pour it, so you might want to come down."

"On my way—Vronsky, I swear I will personally _hex_ you if you eat it all," came the threat. The window banged closed again, Hyacinth noted that several other people had wandered over, some drawn by the scent, and others by prior knowledge. Those were the ones already pulling out Sickles in anticipation.

She reached for the first little charmed cooling pan and ladled a huge spoonful of the sticky treat into it; as the toffee touched the pan it gave a sweet sizzle and hardened instantly into a glazed sheet of light brown with darker speckles through it.

Boris gave a rumble of pleasure. "Toffee with chocolate nibbles, oooh yes! What will you call _this_ one?"

"Dementor Shield," Hyacinth told him, and began to pour more of the palm-sized pans.

Students were crowding in, holding out money and Boris waved them back. "Line up properly now; no pushing or I'll show you what a _real_ shove is like." As they followed directions, Boris glanced at Hyacinth, who had already set aside two pans. "The usual two sickles?"

"Yes," she nodded, and moved quickly to get the rest of the little palm-sized pans filled. The afternoon was fine, although brisk, and the scent of toffee seemed to mingle with that of the leaves and chimney smoke that colored the Saturday around them. Hyacinth noted that the Gryffindor Quidditch team fresh from practice were headed her way and felt glad she'd doubled the recipe.

"S'good!" a student told her, his mouth full. "A winnna!"

Nodding, she grinned, and kept filling pans as Boris collected the money for her. Within minutes Hyacinth had sold out, leaving half the Gryffindors disappointed and bartering with their luckier teammates for at least a taste. Roger approached the cauldron, his violin case in hand. " _Please_ tell me you held some back," he pleaded in a whisper after the other students began to drift away.

"For you, always," Hyacinth replied. "Not only are you the master of puppy eyes, but you're also—"

"—a slut for toffee," Boris finished with a grin.

Roger drew himself up. "I find that description highly offensive."

"Ah, but is it _accurate_?" Boris demanded, holding up a toffee pan just out of his fellow Slytherin's reach. Given that both he and Roger were the two tallest in their House it was an impressive height.

"Possibly," Roger conceded. "But if one must be so labeled as such, then 'Cinth's toffee is worth the embarrassment. Give it, Vronsky, or you'll be getting a bow where the sun shineth not."

"Our friend is cute when he tries to threaten me," Boris smiled, but he relented, letting Roger take the pan while Hyacinth worked a scouring charm on her cauldron and opened her satchel wide. Two empty pans appeared in it, followed a few seconds later by six others, each making a little clinking sound as it toppled into her bag.

"Think you'll get them _all_ back before tonight?" Roger asked, settling down in the grass to enjoy his own portion of toffee. Boris flopped down next to him and began counting the Sickles in his pockets.

"I hope so; Uncle Ambrosius is going to want them returned before the Holidays so he can start stocking up the shop. So how much did Dementor Shield bring in?"

"Three Galleons, nine Sickles worth," Boris told her as he handed the money over. "You need to raise your prices, Puff girl. That chocolate cherry crumble you made two weeks ago? I'd have paid a full _Galleon_ for a slab of that and never would have regretted it," Boris murmured dreamily.

Roger finished his toffee and licked his fingers before speaking. "He's right, 'Cinth. You're practically _giving_ this stuff away."

She shrugged. "It's not meant to be a _real_ business. Uncle's giving me a chance to try out some recipes, and let him know what everyone liked, that's all."

"But you get to keep the money, yeah?" Boris wanted to know.

"Well yes. I still have to buy ingredients," Hyacinth pointed out, "and some of them don't come cheap. Like the sugar for the toffee—it's from Madam Zulieka's in Port Au Prince, genuine cane that was fertilized with ground shrake and harvested under a zombie moon. Gives my toffee that rich hint of darkness to it."

Both boys looked at each other, and then at Hyacinth, and it amused her to see that while Roger looked intrigued, Boris was nodding.

"Anyway," she finished, "much as I like toffee, I might try some humbugs next time. Peppermint, Spearmint, honeymint, maybe Mallowmint if I can manage it."

Boris rose up and in a quick flick managed to make two Galleons appear and then twirl off his fingertip to dive into the pile of coins in Hyacinth's hand. She blinked; he winked.

"For sugar, and whatever _else_ you need," he told her, and lumbered away before she could do more than splutter her thanks.

Roger laughed, and let himself flop back into the leaf-covered grass of the lawn. "Oh you have a backer now, 'Cinth!"

"I suppose I do," she smirked, and joined him on the grass, "although I don't want to be beholden to anyone, not even Uncle."

"Mmm," he agreed. For a while they lay there, looking up at the fat clouds moving across the afternoon sky, simply enjoying the afternoon.

Roger finally sat up, brushed bits of dried grass from his shoulders and sighed. "Alas, duty calls. I may not make it down to the hall tonight if the professor runs on again."

"Again? It's one thing to teach you, but another to starve you," Hyacinth grumbled. "I know you're his pet project, Roger and it's a fantastic thing that Flitwick's giving you all sorts of extra lessons in Charmed music, but you _do_ need to eat now and then."

"The toffee will hold me for a while and anyway, it's all right. I've got a few apples hidden away in the Common room," he assured her.

Hyacinth gave him a wry look but relented, looking instead at the battered case by his side. "So tell me what you're working on now."

"Haunted violin," Roger told her. "Some Muggle brought it into a shop saying no matter what he tried to play it would only screech. Someone alerted the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department and they gave it to the professor."

"And?" Hyacinth encouraged. Roger opened the somewhat tatty case and brought out the instrument. To her eye it looked rather plain and unremarkable, but Roger tightened a peg, set the violin to the crook in his neck and gently drew the bow along the strings.

Instantly an unearthly little note rose out, gentle and sweet. Almost a coo.

"She's a baby banshee," Roger told her, and moved the bow again, the strings making music to blend with the light call now rising from the F holes. "No idea how the little thing got in there, but eventually we'll have to take the back off the violin and free her. Professor Flitwick says he can find her a home down by the lake where the merfolk will help watch over her until she's grown."

"Oh," Hyacinth noted. "But that wasn't a screech. Not a proper one that is. Did you . . . _tame_ her?"

Roger smiled. "Soothed her, more like." He carefully pulled the violin away and peered into the F holes. "When I first picked it up she really did howl like a mad thing, but when the professor and I restrung the bow with Unicorn hair and played the violin, I think she sensed the magic and realized we wanted to help her." He held up the bow, and Hyacinth could see the snowy strands. When the sunshine hit them in a certain way they glittered.

"Wow, I thought those were only for wand cores and potions."

"Usually. But in this case, this _use,_ they're extraordinary, 'Cinth. A unicorn strung bow can bring out a richness to the notes that I don't think anyone—Wizard or Muggle- can get with ordinary horsehair," Roger murmured, studying the bow himself for a moment. He re-settled the violin and began to play, this time a sweet and thoughtful melody that made Hyacinth sway as she listened. The banshee was singing along, providing a melancholy-tinged harmony, her voice high enough to bring several owls down from their tower. They settled on the trees around Roger and Hyacinth, listening intently.

When he finished, unexpected applause made both of them look up to see several people leaning out the windows, smiling. Roger blushed as the owls scattered.

"Not bad, De Malinbois!" Renata called down to him. "D'you have a tip jar?"

"Pffft," Roger replied and began to pack up the violin again, handling it gently. The windows above began to close again, and Hyacinth stood up, reaching for her satchel reluctantly. She knew she had a fair amount of studying to do, and there was the report and recipe to write up, but the afternoon was still fine, and she wanted to linger.

Roger seemed to feel the same way. He motioned with his chin and they walked around the building back to the wide main staircase, not saying much and not needing to—

The way good friends do.


End file.
